The Spark

Sometimes it's difficult,
obese with intentions
starving for deeds, my life

like an artichoke, each stiff,
waxy layer peeled; and Death
like salt and lime rimming

the ring, grainy white, green.
What am I to do? The fire says:
change the space between living

and ceasing to burn, thought
followed by action, forces
the heart to be tested, strained

like two sticks rubbing eachother
fiercely together in the woods,
in the night, in the rain.

in the woods, in the rain.

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